


I'm Having the (Good) Time of My Life

by kurobook



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Bad Puns, Other, Puns & Word Play, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurobook/pseuds/kurobook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace!Reader enjoys falling for a grinning lazy bones, unironically enjoying puns, and the sensual aesthetics of a Sans coming apart under their hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Having the (Good) Time of My Life

Sans is like a part of your SOUL.

  
You love to touch him. You don't get off on it. That's not how you work. But for some reason, you really like seeing your partners react. You like seeing them flustered, hearing their gasps, feeling them shiver under you. Most of your partners felt awkward. They wanted you to reciprocate, but that’s not how you work. Sans gets it, though. You really really love that about him.

  
You love how sensitive his bones are. He flushes when you hold his hand, and you wonder if it's because you're literally touching his bones, or that you can _see right through him_. Oh, yeah, you two are both trashy pun monsters. It was a great sticking point. Actually, you remember the time he stacked hot dogs on you, and started making hot dog puns, and you laughed so hard you knocked the tower over, along with yourself, and Sans, and cried a little, because you were unironically loving the puns. And Sans. You are so ridiculously in love with this skeleton monster, cracking puns and holding your hand.

  
One day you see him lost in thought, not really sulking, just bewildered by everything, like the Sun has never risen before, and you ask him if he had a _dog._ In your luck, he did. A hotdog.

  
“So that's what's eating you. Take better care of your bones, Sans!” It's not even a good warm-up joke, but the startled laugh he lets out is all you need to start _rolling out_ some _batter_ puns. You two's whole relationship is arguably Papyrus’ bane. You think he's being a little _marrow_ minded about having a _pun_ time.

  
You stay the night at their house watching tv and sleep on the couch until Sans sheepishly leads you to his messy room to sleep in an actual bed. Before he could leave for the couch, you pulled him into a cuddle and relished the sight of his blush. It was even brighter when you chastely kissed his bone lips, which were solid under yours, even as animated as they were. Weird, but pleasantly cool.

 

* * *

 

  
Of course, with your previous little touches, you eventually experiment a little in private to invoke a little more. Sans gets more breathless when you brush your hands on his neck. He tenses up, and then you feel shivers run down his spine, each vertebrae making a minute pop down to his tailbone.

  
He's so responsive, and you love it. You love that you could just run your finger on his arm, or rub his shoulder, and he's practically rattling at your touch. It's hard to explain, but people look so good coming apart, even more when you can't.

  
Sans is gorgeous, and you run your fingers along the inside of his ribs reverently. He's panting, kind of breathing in a not-enough-air sort of way, even without lungs, but his eyes flicker a bit, and the deep blue spreading on his cheeks is almost violet.

  
You glide your palm lightly over the inside of his spine, letting your fingers catch on the ridges, watching him grip the sheets, propped on his elbows, sweating, gasping, as he stares intently at your hand moving in his rib cage.

  
When you smooth your fingers over the rim of his pelvis, he stutters in his breathing, choking a little, shoulders struggling to stay up. You press your thumbs onto the inside, hands curved around his hips and rubbing. He's moaning and drooling for barely a minute before he's keening, and you can feel a warm pulse of energy, more like a shaking heat wave than a burst of air, and some things on the tables wiggle and still.

  
His eyes flicker back like old lights turning on, like he's blinking blearily. Sans tilts his head over to look at you, an expression like he's drowning in absolute adoration, clumsily wiping the saliva off his jaw. You feel the same look on your face.

  
“c'mere…” he slurs, rolling slightly to hold his arm up. You scoot under it, and pull the blankets up around the both of you. He knows you're never aroused, but he also knows that seeing him like that… it gives you a good time. You rest your forehead on his.

  
You both say “I love you”. You both mean it. It feels like determination.

**Author's Note:**

> So being ace with an appreciation of the aesthetics of sex, and loving Sans, is pretty much the reason for this fic. Sans is wonderful.
> 
> I still can't believe I actually wrote this.
> 
> Note: While being ace doesn't mean you can't have sex, it also doesn't mean that your allo partner (allosexual: someone that experiences sexual attraction) can't not have sex. But that's also between the partners! Don't budge into other people's business uninvited.


End file.
